


i'm sorry.

by alphvjensen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sam, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst, Drinking, Drunk Dean, Drunk Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Giggly Dean, I don't know what else, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, it's fluffy, with drunk dean and sam who pretends to be annoyed by him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphvjensen/pseuds/alphvjensen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when you finally decide what you are and the right word to call the relationship that you were now it, there were still times when you wanted to do nothing more than rip out the throat of the man that you called your lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a fluffy (slightly angsty) piece that I came up with. It got pretty long as you can see. It was only supposed to be a drabble and then 3000 words later here I am. I have this full one shot. I probably didn't capture the drunk giggly dean like I wanted in my head but the words stopped coming (words, who needs words, right? You don't need words for a story) but here you go. Your brother fluff.

 

Fights, like real fights. Like those end of the world fights that usually end up with both of them going their own ways out of stubbornness and just to prove a point to the other, didn’t happen often. 

Usually it happened when Dean did something so incredibly stupid to bring Sam back from the dead. Almost end of the world stupid. But those kind of fights didn’t happen often and even when they did, they would come crawling back to each other on their hands and knees begging for forgiveness and often times fall asleep together, naked limbs tangled together.

Tonight seemed to be one of those nights. Tonight was one of those nights where they were at each others throats ready to pounce and scratch their nails so deep into each others skin that it drew blood. Now this wasn’t the kind of fight that they just wanted to split the bridge and go down that road diverged but it was bad nonetheless.

Frankly they couldn’t remember what started the fight. It was whole bunch of little things that had been piling on top of each other that ultimately boiled over to the point where neither of them could ignore it any longer and it ending with Sam stalking off to his room, chest puffed up in a defiant gesture and Dean grabbing the keys to the Impala, screaming out that he was going out for the night and that Sam didn’t have to wait up for him, he might not be back for a while.

Wait…scratch that, he said that he  _wasn’t_ going to be back for the night. Maybe find some solace in the bottom of a bottle and maybe in the arms of another. And boy if that didn’t hurt like a motherfucker to Sam.

Of course, Sam knew that Dean wouldn’t do that. He was too loyal to Sam and to do something like that, to sleep with another when they had finally put words to what their relationship actually was, it would be a breach of their trust and Dean wouldn’t do that. 

But that didn’t mean that Dean didn’t know exactly what to say in fights to hit Sam where it hurts.

Besides, it’s only fair in a sense. 

Sam did it plenty of times to Dean through the years. Running out in the middle of the night only for Dean to find him at some bar, draped over some man that looked a little too good looking and purposefully walked past Dean to the same motel that they were staying at and if he could, got the same motel room right next to the one that Dean was staying at only to make Dean regret every word that he said.

Yeah, it was petty but what else were they supposed to do. They knew, knew with every nerve and every bone in their body that they would always come back to each other. There was nothing that either one of them could do to make the other stay gone forever.

Hell, how many times have they nearly ended the world for each other. More times that they cared to count.

But still, that was back when they only did things in the dark, under the cover of the moonless night and they always avoided the topic of what they really were. Ever since they finally talked about what happened, what they were, neither one of them went out looking for someone to fuck just to get back to the other.

It was just harmless threats now.

It still didn’t stop Sam’s worrying though. He wasn’t necessarily worried that Dean was going to come back in the morning smelling like cheap perfume or the musk of another guy, it was the fact that the only arms that he was going to turn to was the welcoming arms of Jack, Jim, and Jose.

Yeah he said not to wait up but…fuck…Sam couldn’t just go to bed knowing that Dean was probably out there somewhere drinking a bar dry and that when he’s this riled up, this emotional (not that he would admit that he was) who knows what he could say or what he could do. Dean’s got a mouth on him that caused him more problems than any mouth should. 

The last thing that Sam wanted to do was wake up in the morning and read the paper headline saying that he was found in a ditch somewhere with a stab wound to the spleen, eyes gouged out and _jackass_  carved across his chest.

When Dean gets drunk he does some stupid shit that causes Sam to basically lose his mind with worry.

Three in the morning rolled around and Sam’s eyes burned with sleep. God, he wanted nothing more than to sleep but his body was so amped up with caffeine and fear that he knew that he would never actually be able to fall asleep. All he would do is toss in turn in his bed, ears straining for the sound of the door opening and closing.

He rested his head on his hand as he staring down at his phone waiting for  _that_ phone call. 

It would be Dean’s number but it wouldn’t be his voice on the line. 

It would be the bartender calling to same that Dean was passed out in some corner, eyes bloodshot as he literally almost drank himself into a coma.

But it was three and that phone call still hadn’t come and Sam had half the mind to call Dean relentlessly, begging him to tell him where he was. He’s already called twice. Both times they went to straight to voicemail. It didn’t take too much to piece together that Dean was avoiding him.

But where the fuck was he. There wasn’t any bar out there that served this late. He’s already checked. Hell, he already called most of the bars within twenty miles of the Bunker asking when they closed just to make sure.

His phone remained silent.

Nothing.

He tapped his fingers on the table a couple of times, trying to decide the best way to do this, to find his jackass of a brother that he cared so much about. He could track his phone if it wasn’t turned off but wouldn’t that be a breach of trust. Tracking his phone and tracking his down. Would that be a breach of trust? 

Also didn’t Dean say  _not_ to come looking for him? He couldn’t remember.

He could try calling again. But what if it went straight to voicemail? Was he really just supposed to crawl into bed without Dean and hope that he would stumble down those stairs in the morning.

Sam sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if the answer was written in bright red letters across the gray paint. There was nothing.

Before he could change his mind, he pressed the call button on his phone, putting it up to his ear.

Dean’s number was dialed into hours ago.

Several rings passed and Sam was already booting up his computer, ready to track his gps when the ringing finally stopped and something clicked on the other line.

Silence.

There was several moments of silence.

“Aw, Sammy, ya don’t hafta worry about me. I’m in a good place.” He finally slurred and hiccuped at the end of his sentence. Once again there was several long moments of silence before his voice filled the line again. “I’m in a liquor store.”

“Jesus chr… Have you been there all night?” Sam hated the fact that he actually sounded a little bit worried about his jackass of a brother. 

But Dean didn’t really have to answer that question for Sam to know how much he had been drinking. The fact that it sounded like he was speaking a completely different language was hint enough that he had been drinking for at least most of the night.

“No… course not.” He hiccuped again. “I went to a bar first. ‘Parently… ’parently drinking an entire bottle of Jack gets ya kicked out. But…uh…I…it wasn’t… Sammy, I…” he hiccuped again and then the line went almost silent. If it wasn’t for the heavy breathing on the other line, Sam would have thought that Dean had hung up on him.

And fuck, Sam actually thought that he was gonna get a proper apology from Dean. Who knew what he could say when he’s  _this_ drunk.

“Dean…Dean? You better not have passed out on me. Dean! Fuck, Dean…god, sometimes I really hate you,” Sam muttered as he set his phone down on the table, logging into his laptop, already pulling up his gps.

As long as he heard his now steady breathing on the line, he would be able to track him. And god, he prayed that Dean hadn’t decided to drive down to the Mexican border to get some cheap booze.

It didn’t take long for him to triangulate where Dean was now most likely passed out.

“I’m coming to get ya, Dean,” Sam spoke to basically no one, grabbing the keys to one of the other cars in the garage and set out towards Dean.

The Impala was out in front of the liquor store and Sam pulled up beside it. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get both the Impala and the car that he drove up here back to the Bunker but frankly that was a problem that he was going to worry about another time. Hell, the Impala might just have to stay parked out here all night until Dean was sober enough to drive it himself.

“Where is he?” Dean asked the cashier as he stepped into the small store, the bell over the door jingling over his head.

“In the back,” he replied, pointing in the direction of where his brother was. “You must be the ‘Sammy’ that he was crying about.”

Sam shot a look over his shoulder to where the cashier had pointed and he could make out his brothers shoes peeking out from behind a shelf before he pulled out a couple of twenties and threw them down on the counter.

Who knew how much Dean owed.

“Yeah, I am,” Sam said already turning on his heel to where Dean was.

Dean was propped up against one of the coolers, his fingers wrapped around loosely the neck of a nearly empty bottle, his chin resting against his chest as he slept, light snores coming from his open mouth. Even sleeping he looked awful.

Sam crouched down next to Dean and patted his cheek, trying to shake him awake.

Dean grunted, licking his lips repeatedly as if they were dry, shaking his head as if he didn’t want to wake up.

“Dean, come on, man, we’ve gotta get you home. Wake up,” Sam whispered, shaking Dean’s shoulders now.

Dean grunted before his eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused as he tried to remember where he was before he settled on his brother that was staring at him, every muscle in his face pulled into a concerned kind of frown.

“Sammy,” Dean slurred, a lazy, drunk smile broke across his features. He chuckled to himself as his free hand when to cup his brothers face, patting his cheek a couple of times before it went back to his lap. “Heya, Sammy.”

Oh, Sam wanted to get angry at Dean. Yell at him just a little bit for staying out this late, for drinking so much, for passing out on the floor of some liquor store, for being so damn frustrating sometimes but he couldn’t bring himself to it, not when he was watching Dean try to climb to his feet, his footing unsure and stumbling like a five year old.

Finally Sam threw Dean’s arm around his shoulder and supported most of his brothers weight, grabbing the nearly empty bottle from the ground and walking back towards the cashier.

The moment that Sam touched Dean, supported him, Dean just sank into his brother’s hold, leaning on top of him, trying to get as close as possible.

Sam set the bottle down on top of the counter and the money that he threw down just a few moments earlier was still sitting there. He looked at it and then up at the cashier.

“He already paid for the bottle that he drank.” The cashier explained. Sam looked down at the man that was basically hanging off of him.

Dean…already paid. That almost seemed uncharacteristic of him. Sam could see him just blowing past the cashier, going straight to the whiskey and ignoring every time he threatened to call the police.

“Dean…already paid?” 

“Yeah. He walked in here a couple of hours ago. He threw down some money said that he was kicked out of a bar just not too long ago but he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to face ‘Sammy’, which I assume is you, and that he needed to get completely wasted before he went back home. He wasn’t a problem, just went to the back of the store, grabbed a bottle of cheap Canadian whiskey and started to drink from it. Frankly he looked so pitiful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he shouldn’t be drinking in the store. Kept crying your name though, saying how he screwed up.”

Sam scoffed. Dean admitted to some stranger that he screwed up. “You didn’t by chance get that on tape, did you?”

The cashier chuckled. “No. I just left him to his own devices. I figured that if no one called him soon or if he didn’t call anyone, then I was gonna call someone for him. I’m getting ready to close up. Should have a couple of hours ago but he wasn’t in any condition to move.”

Sam was about to say something else, push the money back towards the cashier, tell him to take it for babysitting his older brother when Dean pulled on the front of his jacket, grabbing his attention.

“’m tired, Sammy.” He sounded so much like a child, his eyes were hooded as he tried to stay awake. The were a couple of minutes of silence before he hiccuped and rested his head back on Sam’s shoulder.

“Thank you for looking after him. Most people would have just kicked him out.”

“It wasn’t nothing. He seemed like a good guy. Not like the regulars that I usually have to put up with.”

“Yeah, Dean…” Dean lifted his head off Sam’s shoulder when he said his name and looked at his little brother, eyes wide with wonderment. “He’s a good guy. Can be a bit of a jackass, running off in the middle of the night like he did and leaving me pacing my room like the freaking wife but he’s a good man.”

Dean blinked once, the gears in his brain turning a little slower than normal as he tried to process what Sam just said.

Then a huge smile appeared on his face as he broke out into a giggly mess. “You have hair long enough to be the wife.” He giggled again, pressing a sloppy kiss to his temple. “My pretty pretty wife.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam muttered, his face flaming with heat as he placed his hand on top of Dean’s head and pushed his head back down on his shoulder. Sam glanced up at the cashier who was grinning at the pair.

“Take your money, and take him home and get him in bed. He’s gonna have a massive hangover tomorrow and whatever happened between the two of you, he’s sorry for it.” The cashier picked the money off the counter and put it into the palm of Sam’s hand and then directed him towards the door.

Dean was useless. His legs were useless. It would have been easier if Sam had just hoisted Dean up on his back but Dean seemed too interested in kissing the side of his face, giggling to himself, mumbling incoherent words while he ran his hands through Sam’s hair.

Sam opted to go with the safer choice of taking the Impala back to the Bunker than the car that he drove up there. It would completely avoid the fight that would bound to happen when Dean realized that his baby spent all night in the middle of some parking lot open to the greasy hands of any sleaze bag that might pass by and the elements.

While Sam was trying to get the keys from the front pocket of Dean’s jeans, Dean tried to pull a serious face as he said that he already had a boyfriend and that he wouldn’t appreciate that he was groping him. His boyfriend was big and scary and would kill him. Sam just rolled his eyes when he grabbed the keys, told Dean to shut up and shoved him into the passenger seat of the Impala.

The entire ride back to the Impala, Dean was a human magnet, attaching himself to Sam, the small space between their two seats seeming to be too much.

By the time that Sam pulled into the garage of the Bunker, Dean was already asleep, his hand balled into a fist around the material of Sam’s jacket. He managed to wake him up just long enough to all but carry him to his bed and Dean immediately plopped down, wiggling on the bed just a little bit as he got comfortable and within moments, his soft snores filled the room.

Sam’s shoulders sagged as his whole body relaxed taking in the sight of his sleeping brother all safe in his own bed. He helped Dean undress, taking of his shoes and socks, dropping them at the foot of his bed and then pulled his jeans down his legs and slid the jacket and flannel shirt from his shoulders, dropping them in a pile. Then he pulled the blankets up to his chin, tucking him in.

He disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle and a couple of pills, dropping them on his bedside table before slinking off into his own room for the night. Sleep took him seconds after he fell against the pillows.

When Dean woke the next day, sometime in early afternoon, his head was pounding and he was grateful to find that Sam had already thought about him, swallowing down the pills and the water in nearly one swing.

And under the water bottle was a single slip of paper, two words scribbled in his brother’s messy handwriting.

_I’m sorry._

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, comments, and opinions are always welcomed.


End file.
